Naked.
I will never be comfortable naked. I try to take my clothes off in deliberate, broad strokes, looking as disaffected as I can muster. The exposure of any part of my body floods me with shame. In order to exist as a sexual creature I have to accept my body as a means of communicating with others.
I’d like to strip my clothing and not immediately pull my posture up, or cover my belly or breasts with my arms, every part of me that someone sees is a new apology. I’m sorry for how I look, and I feel they are too.
I try to think of whales and porpoises fucking. The massive long pink cock of an orca and how it aches for her form-evolved, large, soft. Her mass is gigantic, a heart I’d have to hold in two arms. - but in the water she is weightless, graceful. His lust borne completely of instinct, unfettered by a concept of society, sexuality, beauty. The more I am made to feel like an animal, the more the ego slips, the closer I feel to sexually whole and satisfied.
Here are to the few lovers i felt ease with, less judged. Thank you.
Living in the suburbs sucks. It’s everything that’s bad about everywhere that’s bad. Is that right? WHAT I’M SAYING IS: I would rather live in the woods where it’s pretty and quiet and noone is there and nature is full spectrum bloom and i’m breastfeeding baby fawns. OR I would rather live in the city where there are SO MANY people (I am then bound to like some of them) and there are SO MANY things to do and limited release movies come to the famous players across town, and you meet artists at parties and concerts with real bands mentioned on pitchfork actually play. BUT LIVING EVERYWHERE IN BETWEEN IS SO MUCH DISAPPOINTMENT. Suburbs, I am not thrilled by your terrible sports bars and approximately 36 trees. Your unreliable underground drug trade and sadistic public transit system. I’m so sick of people telling me they don’t mind you, St. kittens. I don’t *mind* you either, but I’m not 45. I still have wild things living inside me, so I can’t live inside you anymore. I’ve been seeing other cities, and I can admit that. You wouldn’t be a bad city to settle down in, but if that’s what I was looking for in a relationship right now I’d be with a city like Peterborough. Don’t take this like I’ve just run off with Ronto and abandoned you. We had 4 years together, and no, not all of it was bad, but I’m not ready to talk about that now. We should keep moving forward. No, you weren’t as romantic as Montreal, but you were more stable. Know that I would sooner come back to you than Shwa, and that although I threatened to move to Campbelford numerous times when we fought, I never would have moved there, because that would have been like dating a 50-year old friend of my dad’s. It can’t always be Boston Pizza and a movie, a girl needs more. I didn’t want to bring looks into this, but frankly, look at yourself. You’re a mess. There’s huge gaping empty storefronts all over your downtown. You have absolutely no long-term goals to do anything about your economy, either. Your pro-life leanings scared me from the beginning, but I guess I thought I could change you. I don’t think Ronto is going to solve all my problems, I just think everyone will be happier this way. Don’t make this harder than it needs to be.
The first majorly evident problem with this blog.
My entire life has been a struggle between intense/funny. I think I am equal parts intense/funny. These two things dont mesh well together. When they mesh, you get things like Gary Busey. I want to be the female-lots-of-things, but not the female Gary Busey.
I find intense, dramatic flowery language enters a lot more into my day-to-day conversations then I’m comfortable with. I frequently wonder if people think I’m mental, or worse yet- a big fucking tool. This isn’t to say I’m broody, or overly faggy, just…Lyrical? That’s even worse.
I like to think I am MOSTLY FUNNY. People think of me as a funny dude. They would expect this blog to be 40%-60% funny. - The remaining ratio? I don’t know, hateful and self-serving.
This blog is essential, because I don’t write anything meaningful anymore. FACEBOOK is my main creative outlet, how pathetic is that? A sickening amount of my day is spent trying to be witty on facebook. Through CAREFULLY CONSTRUCTED commentary on people’s stati and the like. I love/hate facebook. I don’t get people who hate it all the time, though. Since facebook is web 2.0 and almost entirely user generated, it is possible that facebook does not suck; YOUR FRIENDS SUCK. Which is why I clean shop every few months in an attempt to whittle down my contact list to under 50 people. IT CAN BE DONE. Well, not for everyone. Most people need to keep butthurt fellow students and co-workers on their accounts least they violate some social contact where they are supposed to be in the know in regards to one another’s day-to-day goings-on. SNORE. I am blissfully not under either of these social contracts, narry with students or co-workers. So the only time I get to get FUMINGLY angry at the stupidity of facebook is when I accidentally read something a Friend-of-a-friend (or FOAF; AKA UrbanLegendVictim) posts. The friends of my friends are GIBBERING IDIOTS. The urge to say something snarky when the opportunity arises are nearly overwhelming. They flood the senses with the raw, naked, white-hot rage I’ve found I need to sustain me. I wouldn’t always want to risk insulting someone who my friend likes/agrees with, that’s mildly nerve-wracking. I have dumb people on my facebook too…just hidden from the live feed. I feel bad for people who have to keep annoying work people on their facebooks. I can see why people delete their facebooks.
"on friday i went to toronto on the greyhound. remember when that guy decapitated that other guy on a greyhound in saskatchewan or one of the other polygonal provinces, and everyone was afraid of greyhound buses for awhile. i mean, in reality, how often do people’s heads get cut off? basically never. like, do people actually expect copycat decapitators to start cutting heads off on greyhound buses everywhere? no one wants to be the guy that cut off that other guy’s head. people are way too scared of like, crazy psycho killers. they’re rare, you know? how often do people get killed? basically never. nobody i know ever got killed."
This is from Kenny’s blog. Which in loose and fast ways is inspiration for my blog. This story was relevant to me today. I’m on 4chan, and there is a gore thread. (For those who do not speak internet 4chan is….where the internet kind of implodes on itself. For every good point of the internet ie. community, communication, sharing. There’s a dark part of that.) GORE THREADS show pictures of grisly deaths and injuries.
I AM NOT THE KIND OF PERSON WHO SHOULD LIKE GORE THREADS. I turn my head in scary movies so that a graphic portrayal of an eye injury doesn’t scar me for life. I think I used to be afraid that I’d see something I couldn’t unsee and have to carry that like an lesion across my brain. I don’t encourage anyone to read the next paragraph.
Picture was the decapitators victim : head cut off/skin cut off/eyes cut out/ears cut off/ nose cut off/nose cut off/tongue cut out and all carefully arranged next to the body. Like a vaguely discernible pile of meats with googily eyes looking back at you. kicker: next to a picture of what this poor soul looked like in real life.
My point is; i don’t have a good justification for looking. They call it “sick curiosity” and leave it at that. I think it feels more pressing. I don’t consider myself a rubbernecker. Full disclosure: mortality frightens me. Seeing someone carved up like a grotesque Mr. Potato head may be part of all this process. I have a difficult time accepting the bodies we carry around will decay, eventually. I have difficulty accepting murder and mutilation. People don’t like to see the human form twisted and broken, I’ll assume like me people have a special cold, fearful place in their hearts for a disfigured face.
Rational thinking dictates that no, this is not likely a fate to befall you. Most women especially should be statistically aware that your boyfriend or husband is the most likely person to kill you. Most people are not killed by strangers. They are killed by people they know, or more likely strokes and heart attacks after long, enjoyable lives of not being stabbed to death on buses.
I had a very hot friend who had trouble losing her virginity. She was 18, which isn’t as hopelessly long in the tooth as we’re pretending it is here. I think the problem when you’re sexually charged and pragmatic and a virgin at that age, you have a kind of an odd call to make. I’m lucky. I lost my virginity young and wild and thinking it was going to last forever. It doesn’t matter if you’re diluting yourself, you’re a kid, no one blames you for being stupid.
But at 18 you’re forced to decide. Do I wait for someone I think I could really love? / Do I fuck anyone attractive and available as soon as possible? I ARGUE THAT BOTH HAVE THEIR MERITS. Why bother waiting for someone special if you’re 18 and smart enough to know it wont last anyway? Having a casual romp for your first time is slutty; but a casual romp on your first, second or third time is “experimenting”.
This was my friend’s problem. She was meeting lots of people who would make a perfect second or third person to sleep with, but weren’t cutting the mustard to be her first.
This is my problem. I have lots of things I would like to write about second or third, but this first entry? Ive bought into all the romantic hollywood bullshit that this first entry has to be special. That, like my first boning, it must be RICH WITH MEANING. I’m saying now, fight the powers that be, and accept this first time for what it is: Stoned, hurried and at 10:37 a.m. on a thursday, just like god intended.
